Then
by Precocious Prat
Summary: And maybe he's exactly what she needs, even if it never seemed so. A stylized bit on the romance of Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil.


**A/N: So, some background information: I wrote the entire story in one sitting after perusing Artistic Alley and this website for much too long , then finished typing and editing it about five o'clock in the morning. I've edited it again with the help of one awesome almost-beta who suffered, so I can confidently say it is now better. Have fun.**

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Then

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It's Sorting and she can't breathe and maybe, she thinks, the floating candles might burn her, they make the air so hot. Parvati is holding her hand and she keeps whispering to her sister, "be brave, be brave, we're strong together," but Padma has never been especially brave and she can hear Parvati's heart through her chest, so maybe her sister isn't either. She's trying to focus on anything but the stuffy air and the heat and the mere thought of being separated from the girl who has been by her side since she was born. Maybe if she closes her eyes enough, breathes in just the right way, they'll be Padma and Parvati, the Indivisible and Invincible Patil Twins again.

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But when she opens her eyes, a crowd of children she's never known are still there and Parvati's eyes are still shining at the thought of the _future_, but all Padma wants to do is to be living the past. A voice is calling for _g_'s and there's a boy whose hair is like gold and whose glasses are glinting, gilded, but she notices him, mostly, because he looks content, like this is all he's waited for, and she wishes she could have that. Then he's walking and it's an easy gait and a moment before that strange, strange hat calls "Ravenclaw" and he's smiling and off he goes to join his comrades, but she's left staring at the stool as the letters are called until it's _p_.

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Every bit of her, every atom, resists as she's called, but Parvati is pushing her and whispering, "Good luck." She surprises herself at how steady each step is and then the oversized hat barely touches her head before it's proclaiming her a Ravenclaw. Even though she knows she should be rising from the stool, smiling as she meets her new family, she just sits there. Later she kicks herself—first impressions always matter and she must have seemed a dullard, but right now all she can do is sit. Then the professor (was it McGonagall?) is prodding and gently urging her with "up, child"s and she, somehow, ends up next to the fair-haired golden child, the Anthony boy, and watching as her only constant flashes her an excited smile before sitting in the lions' den. And Padma very much wants to cry because this was _not_ how things were supposed to go, but she just sits there. Like she always does.

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And, oh, of course, they still see each other, but it's not quite the same. There are no more hidden rooms found together or or midnight secrets or lazy days spent listening to the radio and reading. Parvati laughs and says that they'll survive, they're strong girls, but the thing is they've always been strong together.

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She suffers through the accidental abandonment, through Parvati's urging that she find more friends, that she try this new cosmetics spell because it's done wonders for her own hair, that she _blossom_. But, really, Padma doesn't want to blossom. They've always been different in that regard—Parvati with her talk of a husband and children and constant "oh, won't it be exciting!"s, but it isn't Padma's way.

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Routines dominate the first year—every morning, a wash, breakfast with her sister (outside, toast and marmalade, gossip), classes, a late lunch, classes, hour and a half in the library, dinner, then an evening by the fireside reading. And Padma begins to think that, perhaps, this place is not so terrible.

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Summertime is spent like children again and she thinks that maybe everything will be all right, she's so happy. Then it's over and King's Cross passes by in a swirl of kissed cheeks and parents' tears and suddenly she finds herself in a compartment and wishing that Lavender might speak a _little_ more quietly or perhaps not have to wear _so_ much of her namesake's perfume. It makes the air heavy with its scent and Padma doesn't think she can stand another moment, so she assures Parvati that she'll be back soon, and suddenly she's free, but everything still feels as if it's too much.

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She is surprised to find herself weeping and she can't let anyone see (then she would just be weak and nobody would want her, not even Parvati) and she's stumbling toward the lavatory. And, oh God, the girls' is locked, what's she supposed to do? A quick breath, then she's inside the boys', latching the door and sinking to the floor. Seconds feel like minutes, so, soon, she's wiping eyes, washing her face, taking steadying breaths, but she knows that if anyone looks closely, they can realize. Truly, though, she's pressed it already that no one has knocked yet, so she's unlocking the door and swiping at her eyes just one last time, then she's stepping out and looking down and hoping to God that no one saw her exit, but no such luck.

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He's there, the golden Anthony, and he has this puzzled sort of look on his face and she can't stand it one more second, that bemused but utterly concerned expression, but he has her, quite literally, cornered. So she's pushing past him, apologizing and still looking down, but he catches her and although he's not very strong (neither is she), he's got her and he's saying her name much too often in a voice matching his expression, sometimes interjecting, "what's happened, what's wrong?", then she's crying again.

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He's just standing there, trying to comfort her, but, Jesus, he hardly knows her, there's no obligation, yet he's still trying. Then he's saying something and she sniffs and thickly asks if he could please repeat that. "Okay, Padma, go back to the lavatory, er, the girls' that is, and I'm going to clear Michael and Terry out of the compartment, so just stay here. Is that okay? Padma? I'll be right back."

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She doesn't know why he's doing this, but, God, is she glad. To walk back, to have Parvati coddle her when _she_, Padma, had always been the caretaker, to have Lavender see her in this state, is out of the question. So she washes her face (again) and wipes her eyes (again) and takes steadying breaths (again) and then he knocks. He isn't saying anything, doesn't touch her, just guides her with various, slightly wild gesticulations to his compartment nearby. It's empty, as promised, but still scattered with various candy wrappers and one still-loose Chocolate Frog keeping to a corner. It makes her laugh and he looks immensely relieved and promptly collapses onto a seat and she realizes how very strange this all is.

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She's apologizing, then, and saying that she didn't mean to be a bother, and, oh really, what a nuisance she had been and weren't they nearing the castle and shouldn't she go get changed?

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The look returns, that perplexed and thinly-veiled concerned look, and he begins to say that, although Ravenclaws weren't particularly chivalrous, he couldn't just leave a damsel in distress, so to please stay a moment longer while she calmed down, if she would, Padma. Wouldn't that have been sweet, except that she isn't quite in the mood to play damsel in distress, quite in the mood to be the weak one, and she's rising and so is he, before firmly telling him that she will have concerned her sister enough, but that he had been most kind (which she _had_ been quite glad for), that she would see him upon arrival, then she's gone and he's left standing there.

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Their routine begins to fade until Padma fears that maybe it's already gone and she hadn't realized, that maybe she'd been replaced. She still sits by the lake and still eats faintly warm toast, throws crusts to the Giant Squid, looks every few minutes for Parvati—maybe she had changed her mind, maybe she would sit and gossip and laugh and bring light to Padma's world.

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She starts putting her hair up—she tells herself it's to set herself apart (she's so tired of people accidentally calling her by her sister's name), but mostly she wants to see if Parvati will chide her, as she always has before. But she doesn't.

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It's been months since the day that Anthony had been kind, and yet she still cannot meet his eyes. And it's been weeks since Parvati has talked to her—a confrontation and wrong words and misery.

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And now, they promise, everything is fine, everything is the same, but, truly, it isn't and they both know. It's all pre-thought words and censored minds and excessively telling the other she loves her.

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Sometimes she and he speak. He is careful with her and she is slightly at odds with him. The boy is, after all, the only one who has seen her in… such a state as she was. But this grows and they, somehow, find themselves friends, partners in studies and quiet companions in the Common Room. When they speak, he makes her laugh and he beams and things seem right for the moment.

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Any uncomfortable feeling between the sisters is forgotten for that one night. After all, Parvati is going as date to the Boy-Who-Lived and Padma has been promised to Ronald, sidekick, and what greater honors could be had than those? So she nods and squeals appropriately and lets her sister dress them identically, lets her take down Padma's hair, placates Parvati for the day (because isn't this what she has longed for for years?)

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And Parvati says they're lovely, they're like dolls and they're heartbreakers and men will fall at their feet, (laughing, yet oddly serious as she speaks) but through all they'll stand together because they're the Indivisible and Invincible Patil Twins. And maybe Parvati thinks so, but Padma knows they're only two fourteen-year old girls in pretty saris and laden with golden jewelry and that, the truest of all, they had never been and never would be the Indivisible and Invincible Patil Twins. But she's determined to keep up the façade and to make this their shared dream since childhood.

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The boys, however, have incredibly different ideas. Each pines for another girl—Harry for Cho, Ron for Hermione—and although Padma is prepared, knows she has been thrown in to sweeten the deal, it still hurts oh-so-much. Parvati is caught completely unaware and she sets her mouth in a fashion that's supposed to make her seem unreachable, a goddess, but through a lifetime of observation and Parvati's handfuls of boys, Padma knows she's holding back tears.

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And although she doesn't have her sister's flair for the dramatic, Padma would very much like to slap Harry in front of all three schools, but she cradles her hand and fetches them drinks and comforts until Parvati is whisked away to dance and then she's just sitting there with two glasses of punch and two reticules, looking at all the happy people, and feeling as lonely as she ever has, and then he's there.

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His blond hair looks ridiculous with the magenta and periwinkle robes he's chosen (he still looks better than Ronald, she thinks) and he asks her if she likes his garb, as he's noticed she's been looking, and she answers, "of course," then he's sitting next to her and talking about the wonderful couple Mad-Eye Moody and Professor Sinistra make and she's giggling so hard it hurts and thinking that this is exactly what she needs. He catches her mid-laugh, his face serious, really serious, not his mocking one (and that's really what gets her attention), and he asks her if they might dance.

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And then they're dancing and the music is too slow and he's stumbling a bit, but he's trying so hard that she can't help but smile, then he's smiling and lifting her face up a bit, then he's kissing her, so softly and just for a second, and no one, not even Ronald (she checks) has seen and it's their little secret. He's beaming again, grinning like he never has before, and then he's leading her to the gardens, to this secluded spot where the only light is from the fairy globes. He kisses her again and she can feel the smile still on his lips.

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Somehow they manage to stop and all they do is talk, more than they ever have. She talks about her childhood, of summers in India and her favorite Muggle books (they're all classics) and he's laughing at something she's said about Jane Eyre relating to a girl in their house and year, and he's talking about having a Muggle parent and his three little sisters and how much he wants to travel the world and, oh God, doesn't it feel _right_?

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He wants to shout from the Astronomy tower that she's his, almost does, but she laughs and shushes him and says that she's always liked secrets. She has few friends, none but Parvati close enough to realize, but Michael and Terry laugh at how lovesick Anthony has become, at the cobwebs in his hair from too much time in broom closets (prefects have certain privileges), but he doesn't say a word.

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The world is going to pieces and they're all the other has. Her parents are trying to take her and Parvati from the school and her sister is near willing to go. His mother and sisters have been sent away to a relative in the countryside, his father still working, frightened of the consequences of the last war. And so they're holding on to each other, trying not to drown. Her eyes have dark circles underneath and his laughter is forced, but they're strong (together) and at sixteen, they think they might be able to take on the world, but then Dumbledore is dead and, oh God, Jesus Christ, it's a rude awakening to find that they are not, cannot.

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Flitwick comes for her sometime in the night, informs her that her parents are in his office, and, with a flick of his wand, her luggage is packed and already floating downstairs. She's crying and she doesn't care who knows, and Anthony wakes up and he hears her voice and he's running down the staircase, falling on a few steps, and shouting her name. Flitwick is trying with all his might to get her through the passage, but she's not moving from the Common Room, just sobbing, even harder when she sees Anthony.

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His glasses are mashed on the wrong way and glinting from the fireside's light, the same as when she first saw him, and he's trying to hold her and he keeps repeating that everything will be okay, that they can survive however long before they're reunited, but she's sure that she can't.

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The professor has called McGonagall, Parvati shadowing her, watching. McGonagall pulls Padma away and, for a moment, the gathered crowd's whispers and pitying glances are louder than her or him, and her voice falters. Parvati is stunned, for once the spectator, then she takes Padma's arm and leads her away. Padma no longer wails, just grips Parvati and doesn't trust herself to open her mouth. Michael and Terry are holding Anthony back and the passageway has shut, the eagle knocker's head cocked slightly, watching as Padma is led to her parents.

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She doesn't sleep, not for days, doesn't eat. Then she sleeps, but the not eating, that lasts, but eventually her sister coaxes her to eat, brings her food from their childhood, chaat and curries and chikki. She no longer feels like a child, no longer wishes for secrets and hideaways, but she's not wholly an adult, either.

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There are more sighs in the house, more wearied looks and more busied hands. Padma can't stand to sit and look out windows and think anymore like she did for months. Better to move and try than to think of him. Better to forget, to control, to not hurt. Better not to be weak.

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They see each other again, after the war. He has a couple of scars, one across his ear from a darting hex. It's the first thing she notices. And he laughs and he cries when he spots her and even though he's the one who has fought in the war, she's the one who's changed. Then he's there and he's kissing her and she's closed her eyes and she feels his tears on her face, but all she can think is how much she wishes it was the same, how much she wishes to be sixteen again, how much she wishes she didn't fill that void that he once filled. He can hardly speak he's so happy and she lets him ramble, but she knows this isn't the same, that he isn't her world anymore, her sun, that he's always lived in the present and she in the past, but now the roles are reversed.

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Somewhere in between talking about the battle and his family, about all of the change in the world, he realizes she has that distant look, the one that means she's trying _so_ hard, but that she knows something isn't right. He asks her what it is, even though he doesn't quite want to hear, and she says, "We were children. I loved you then," and she kisses his forehead, then she's gone and he's left standing there.

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Finis

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End file.
